Zeppelins Over Denver ebook now available on some platforms

The ebook edition of Zeppelins Over Denver is now available on the following platforms for $9.99:

Bookshop

Tolino

Smashwords

Barnes & Noble

Kobo

Fable

Coming soon: 

Apple

Vivlio

Hoopla, for you library folks.

I am still trying to unlock the secret of getting the ebook on Amazon and Ingram Spark. Amazon is the site for Kindle where I buy and read most ebooks (just snagged two free ebooks on Bookshop during its promo the day before Amazon started the fall sales blitz). I filled out the form for Amazon a few weeks ago but nothing so far. I uploaded to Ingram, the company that prints my book, but keep getting error messages. Anybody had any problems at these places?

I used Draft2Digital to format my ebook for other platforms. Worked like a charm. Recommended. Thanks to my critique group pal Liz for sending me to D2D. Meet her and other Cheyenne, WY, area writers at the Laramie County Public Library book bash Saturday, Oct. 10, 2-4 p.m. 

Ebooks are important because some 75 percent of all books are bought this way. Before cataract surgery, I read ebooks so I could enlarge the type in dark mode on my K-Reader, or I snagged large print books at the library. Post-surgery, I have laser vision and can read War & Peace at 50 paces. I won't -- read it in grad school. 

The royalties for authors tend to be better for ebooks. Electrons cheaper than paper and ink and mailing.

Keep reading! 

Wetlands gotta do what wetlands gotta do

Feeling afloat in Florida.

According to the U.S. Fish & Wildlife's National Wetlands Inventory, my house sits between two segments of "freshwater emergent wetland." Our neighborhood, Groveside at Ormond Station, sits between two segments of "freshwater forested shrub wetland." It doesn't take too much imagination to know that, before Groveside, all this wet land was connected. 

I live in former wetland in Flagler County but my roots are beachside in Volusia, a few-hundred yards from a very wet ocean. About 10,962,052,282,368,000,000 cu. ft. of water, according to Google. Climate scientists say that some of that salt water will one day infect our Florida aquifer and might just roll over us all.  

For now, I'm on dry land in Flagler County. Just the other day, returning from a podiatrist's appointment in Daytona, I passed a trio of Flagler Sheriff cars, the sheriffs meeting at the side of Airport Road, discussing something important. A quarter-mile to the east lies Ormond Beach Fire Station No. 94. My house sits in Ormond Station on former wetlands claimed by Flagler, the county named after the railroad robber baron who often visited his RB chum John D in Ormond. My address is Ormond Beach 32174.

I voted at the Korona Fire Station in Flagler, permanently closed but open to voters on Nov. 3! Korona is an old Polish community near Bunnell. My parochial high school was named for the first Spanish priest to say mass ashore in Florida. We used to play Bunnell in basketball. The Father Lopez Green Wave vs. the Bunnell Bulldogs. Sometimes we city-based Sanctimonious Catholics won. Sometimes, the Holy Rollers rolled.

I now vote in Flagler County, as I blogged on Aug. 19. We get mailed and e-mailed notifications from Kaiti Lenhart, Flagler County Supervisor of Elections. A banner reminds us that YOUR VOTE COUNTS! Remember this on Nov. 4 when another pack of lunatics is elected because you didn't vote on Nov. 3. Lenhart's e-mail reminds us of upcoming deadlines. You can vote now. Do it. 

I grew up in Daytona. I graduated from Father Lopez in 1969. We lived a half-block from the beach. It was open to us 24/7. In 1964, men and women in bathing attire rode horses in the shorebreak. Our dog Shannon hunted the shallows for anything edible. We surfed. Tossed frisbees. Tried very hard to engage teen girls strolling by. We worked evenings at the Village Inn Pancake House or Murphy's in Bellair Plaza or as clerks or bellhops or room cleaners at the Mom-and-Pop motels along the beach. We were pool lifeguards or gremmies who sold suntan lotion to cadaver-pale visitors from Michigan.

I'm now a septuagenarian living on former wetlands. Wetlands were named for a reason. They don't care what they are called. As we say in Ormond Station, wetlands gotta do what wetlands gotta do. We don't say that but we should. The annual late-September high tides got a lot of attention. The roads in Tomoka State Park flooded. Miami streets flooded. The Pacific Ocean was angry. Beachside California houses were swamped by big waves. 

None of the many houses and apartments I lived in in Daytona/Ormond/Holly Hill have flooded. I grew up in two houses, each a half-block from the beach. They are still there, still dry. 

I wonder about 100 years from now. This will be the land of our great-great-great grandchildren.

Will the wetland reclaim its territory?

Where is Tomoka County, Florida? And what in the heck is a PETD?

My story collection, first published in 2006 by Ghost Road Press. GRP gave up the ghost a few years later. The collection was republished by Hummingbird Minds Press in 2021.
 

My first book of short stories is now available free on Kindle Unlimited. You can also buy the ebook for $3.99 or the paperback for $14.99.

I just formatted my novel "Zeppelins Over Denver" on Kindle Create. It will be an ebook shortly. Amazon AI Gremlins will alert me when it's ready. I prefer you buy the paperback, read it, and spread the news. I do admit that much of my reading lately has been on my Kindle Reader and on my Pixel. I did this when my vision was compromised by cataracts (the devils) and I needed high contrast and large type. A kindly eye doctor, assisted by fantastic nurses and my ISBA (Incredible Shrinking Bank Account; gas, alas, at $4.49!), removed the lenses which had been with me since my youth and replaced them with new ones. I now can see without specs most of the time except when I have to read the small print on meat packages from the grocers' shelves who must think that all of these gray-haired people wandering around the burgers and brats have had cataract surgery and can discern an "n" or a "k" at six inches. 

Read my stories. They can transport you to the Wyoming, post-World-War-Two Colorado, and even 2003 in a place I call Tomoka County, Florida, but most locals know by another name. The story is "Safe at Any Speed" and it begins this way:

Bob Rogers stumbled upon the vehicle of his dreams at the 2003 Tomoka County Leisure and Travel Fair in January. First he had to navigate displays of behemoth recreation vehicles, gleaming travel trailers, and a sea of customized vans. He dodged wave after wave of beaming salespeople touting their vehicles’ extras, such as built-in dialysis units (“Travel and Transfuse in Comfort!”) and satellite TV systems (“Never Again Stop for Directions!”). The prices stunned him. After less than an hour of touring vehicles bigger and pricier than his first house, he headed for the exit. That's when he happened upon the display for Mick Blake's PETD Extravaganza. 

What's next? 

You know what to do.

Just call me a visionary

Spent the last couple days on Kindle Create. I set up the docx file of “Zeppelins” so its available as an ebook on Amazon KDP. Took me awhile to get there as the Ridgeway Press released the paperback in late May. I was conjuring ways to promote my book set in 1919 Colorado. It’s a bit strange to be living on the fringes of Florida wetlands but pining for the Rocky Mountains. Doesn’t help that Florida summers are hot and soupy. I spend most of the time in AC. It reminded me of depths of Wyoming winters, spending most of my time in heated spaces. Here people pine for the cool of winter and Wyomingites get spring fever as they wait and wait for the day when the short spring turns into summer. I used to swoon in late March when spring threatened. I mourned June 21, the longest day of the year, in which Rocky Mountain summer would begin to fade. Now I’m all turned around.

It is my good fortune that I can now see the changing seasons. Dr. K removed the filters from my eyes and gave them new lenses. No more cataracts. I’m reading my own novel in its proper form and not in final manuscript form in large print on a high-contrast screen. It’s miraculous, is it not, that this can be done? It was expensive. I spent all of my book-buying funds for the next 25 years which would take me to the nice round number of 100. But what good are books if you can’t see?

I thought little about my eyes until my 40s. I was in a dark restaurant holding the menu at arm’s distance. My work colleague remarked that I needed glasses. Poppycock, I said, or something like it.  She handed me her reader glasses and told me to bring the menu closer. I did. I could see the type. “Gimme back my glasses,” she said, now holding her menu at arm’s length. I bought readers the next day. They’re called this because it’s the reading that begins to blur.

When you’re a kid, you hold books up to your face or even at arm’s length and you can see fine. It helps that the text is short and simple. “See Dick Run. See Dick fall. See Spot bark. See Sally laugh.” Easy, right? But then come chapter books and assigned books and books my parents are reading but hide away. “Not for kids,” Dad said. I learned to read in earnest when I dug those books out of his underwear drawer. They were not necessarily books on the Catholic Church forbidden list. But some had bad words, such as “fug” in “From Here to Eternity.” There also was kissing and groping on the Oahu beach, at least in the movie.

I thank all of the doctors and researchers who brought us to this point. I know Salk and Sabin and Madame Curie are tough to remember when RFK Junior’s scary face comes on Fox. There’s a prescription for that: “Don’t watch Fox!"

In Memoriam: Wendell Berry, 1934-2026

Rest In Poetry, Wendell Berry. He died Aug. 31 and
this is a bit late in coming. But I liked this image by
Theo the Catholic Worker. It says so much. 

A good time for historical novelists to get on holiday shopping lists

Research is the best part of writing a book such as my novel Zeppelins Over Denver. On second thought, the best part of writing a book is a reader buying it and saying: "I loved it." Even better is when  the book shows up in a New York Times reading list or another outlet putting you on "Ten Best Books for the Holidays!" or "Ten Best Historical Novels With Zeppelins." Experts tell me to get on holiday lists before the appearance of pumpkin lattes (oops -- too late).

A friend in Virginia read the book and said it should be a movie. I agreed, asked him if he knew any Hollywood Movers and/or Shakers. He said he knew a guy in Santa Barbara who worked on craft crew serving sandwiches and snacks to actors. That may be as close as I come to the silver screen.

Thus far, I've received three reviews on Amazon. Editors say that upping the algorithms increases your visibility. I went to Amazon's Alexa for Shopping and, feeling frisky and wearing shades to mask my identity, asked if there are actual zeppelins in this novel. Here's her/its/their reply: 

That's a great question! Unfortunately, my web search didn't turn up specific plot details about actual zeppelins appearing in Zeppelins Over Denver. Based on the 1919 setting, real zeppelins were very much part of the cultural moment — Germany had used them extensively in WWI for bombing raids, and they were still a symbol of both wonder and threat in the public imagination at that time. The title likely refers to that era of airship anxiety and fascination rather than a literal zeppelin flying over Denver — but it could well feature them as a plot element or symbol. Since you've purchased it multiple times, you may know better than I do! 

Snarky Alexa AI knows my buying habits! Yes, I have ordered a couple copies for friends and also to keep an eye on the layout that went astray in the first printing with Ingram Spark. It’s perfectly readable now, thanks to my publisher, The Ridgeway Press of Michigan. Feel free to look it up.

But all is well. From this point forward, I will order copies of my novel when someone goes to Venmo and replenishes my publishing account: @hummingbird-minds. I would also be pleased if you bought a copy from bookshop.org or via Resistance Books in Jacksonville. Yes, I admit I am in cahoots with Amazon and received last night at my darkened doorway a shipment of Biotene lozenges, Dude Wipes, and all-occasion greeting cards. I also am part of The Resistance (see the sidebar) and, if you care about Florida in particular and the USA in general, you should be too.

I am contemplating a Substack site. There are so many 'stackers out there that I could get lost in the shuffle. I found an old colleague's Substack and subscribed. The site belongs to Leslie Petrovski and it's called NAKEID. I had one heck of a time explaining the debit to my wife who keeps track of such things. Here's Leslie's description of her site:

A weekly newsletter about knitting, style, and ripening into a new life stage. The not-so-young one.

I liked Leslie's Sept. 6 cross-post by Lindsay Sword because it opened this way: "Someday I want to publish a novel." Lindsay goes on to say she wants to be a romance novelist. I will let her explain the tie-in between romance writing and fashion. You should read it. I have been in writing groups with successful romance writers and they all write better (and dress better) than I do.

Check out NAKEID. Support your favorite writers.

Find out how the Een Sisters got from Pomeroy, Ohio, to the pages of my book

Agnes McDermott (left) looks at you from Eden Park, Cincinnati, Sept. 22, 1913. Her sister, whom we called "Auntie," is beside her. This is the  look Grandma Agnes gave me when I wore my ballcap into her house or messed with the doilies on the armrests of her couch.

Three 1913 photos of Agnes and her sister in Eden Park. "Zeppelins Over Denver" rises in the background.

I am a big fan of the Writer's Guides written by the WPA's Federal Writers' Project during the 1930s.
Most attention has been paid to the state guides but some cities also got the same treatment.

I was researching the scribbled handwriting on photos of my grandmother, Agnes McDermott, taken of her and her sister in the city's Eden Park. The ink has faded but I could read "Cincinnati Ohio" but what I thought was Edeu Park was Eden Park (thanks Google), one of the city's oldest parks. Someone crossed out part of the date but I found Sept. 22, 1913 on the middle photo (see above). A search brought me the Cincinnati Guide, "compiled by workers in the Writers' Program of the Works Progress Administration in the State of Ohio." Pub date shows 1943 which isn't an oddity as some didn't make it to print during the Great Depression. 

My role as eldest in a large family led to my office becoming repository of family lore. I like being surrounded by family. Photos await sorting as do books and military medals and souvenirs such as Lieutenant Shay's gas mark and flare pistol from his service as a cavalry officer in The Great War. I write on his desk, where he wrote many MONY insurance policies and is wooden filing cabinet where they were stored. My sister Molly sent them to me as she sorted through a life in a two-story family home in Tallahassee to an apartment in Decatur, Ga. We also got her silverware including tiny little forks that I hand to friends and family when they ask for a fork which tickles me but doesn't always get a similar response. I am surrounded by books. Some are mine, others are from my father's presidential library which he divided among his five sons. I have books upon books from a life as a writer, reader, and literary arts administrator. Should one of Elon Musk's spaceships go awry at the Cape and wipe out Ormond Beach, nobody will know our history.

I write this because my grandmother with the steely gaze and her sister inspired characters in my historical novel. In "Zeppelins," they become the Een Sisters (Colleen, Pegeen, and Ireen) of Pomeroy, Ohio. Looking for adventure, the Eens get in their Model T and head West. Grandma and her sister and two friends did the very same thing in the year after the war. Grandma Agnes and sister stayed in Denver; their friends returned to Ohio. I often wondered what inspired the trip. Agnes was nearing age 30 and her sister was older. She had been postmistress in Mason, Ohio, in the years before the war.  They drove mostly unpaved roads to Colorado. We have photos of the Ohio women and their Model T in the Rocky Mountains. Agnes met Martin, married, and had three strapping children, the middle one was my mother. 

The Een Sisters play a pivotal role in my book. Check it out. They appear in Chapter 10: Road Trip: The Een Sisters of Pomeroy, Ohio. Here's how it begins:

When the EEN sisters -- Colleen, Pegeen, and Ireen McCarthy -- decided to drive from Pomeroy, Ohio, to the Rocky Mountains in the summer of 1919, their adoptive parents were aghast. 

"You'll be attacked by highwaymen," said Uncle Mike. He and Aunt Sara had looked after them since their parents died in The Great Ohio River Flood of 1910.

"But Uncle Mike," said Colleen, who often served as the mouthpiece for the girls as she was the eldest, "there are no highwaymen in Ohio."

"Indians, then," said Aunt Sara. "On the prairies of the Wild West."

Pegeen, the middle sister, laughed. "The Indians are on reservations -- or dead from smallpox."

"Smallpox!" Aunt Sara put her hands to her mouth. "Disease, too?"

Ireen, the youngest, barely nine months behind Pegeen, said, "Diseases have all been wiped out. Except for the Spanish flu, of course."

Aunt Sara made the sign of the cross. "Blessed be. We're all thankful to be here."

Hit the link on the sidebar to find out what happens. You can also find me on Venmo.